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"Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard." Anne Sexton 

Heather Brager is a critically acclaimed juggler of calamity, an accomplished procrastinator, and shuffler of idioms. Her poetry and drawings can be found in various digital and print journals around the globe, and on the web.  She currently resides in New England and prefers the precipice of where the Atlantic meets the sand to the official looking office where she spends most of her time. 

Sunday, June 19, 2016


if I begin writing
poems for you, in the
endless string of moments
lurking in between,
while I stealthily
manipulate pessimism
while I attempt to pacify
the resuscitation of a
recovering and
abandoned, but ever
hopeful seer
in the moments we will
inevitably collide, two
worlds pressing closer than skin
if I am willing to say to you
what you are, instead
of what you are not.
when I begin writing
poems for you, will
you let the phrases
speak on my behalf,
pulling my face closer
by my hair, and taste the words
in my open mouth

© 6.19.2016 heather brager

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

sunday return.

you walked with him
to the street, another wet,
grey morning, and
his arms detained carefully, with
sparse words matted together
before the taxi arrived
for a blurry parting, nothing
like you fabricated.
the driver’s broken english, while
stroking a rosary, which swung from
the rearview mirror where
he snuck glances through you, and
you misheard him say
“he’s not the one” as you
latched your seatbelt
watching for signs along the way
arriving far too early, as
you usually do.

© 6.7.2016 heather brager

Saturday, June 4, 2016

too much

please don't mistake our 
passion for need 

we've become the fathers 
who walked away

and the husbands 
we dreamed of marrying 

don't mistake our 
tenderness for weakness,

or our certainty 
for desperation 

if properly tended, our fire 
will awaken the dead

© 6.5.2016 heather brager 

Friday, June 3, 2016


there may come a day when loss
transforms into a field of swaying lavender
her backdrop a storm far out at sea
bravery bending down at the helm
pressing soaked against the wind
accepting forgiveness from the moon

pain is comprised of memories
the language of flowers decaying in a vase
dropping petals on the kitchen counter
cotton sheets and a softly bent arm
reaching for you to the patterns of
rain outside of the opened window

love is woven through everything
the skin on his cheek where
your finger traced while he slept
the intersection where you stood
when you realized you were hopelessly lost
the moment you could again

© 6.4.2016 heather brager

Thursday, June 2, 2016

the common denominator.

when her eyes caught your gaze
on another rapid decline

you suspected the night would
likely not revert to stillness

in truth, latent thoughts would
seldom unfold that way again


her hips and their words
would grasp at your heart

with smoldering fingers
she would borrow your watch

from inside of the sea
and pending another departure


despite the slack obedience
to cyclical verdicts

she would jump through
revolving doors with a stranger

brandishing a propensity
for fastening universes together

© 6.2.2016 heather brager